


Negotiation

by i_am_a_mole_and_i_live_in_a_hole



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Consensual Kink, Enemas, Established Relationship, Fisting, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Rape Fantasy, Safeword Use, Switching, Trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1369384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_a_mole_and_i_live_in_a_hole/pseuds/i_am_a_mole_and_i_live_in_a_hole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki's got a kink that he's never mentioned to anyone before. Tony prides himself on being an understanding sex partner. (Swiftly becoming: Five times Loki dominated Tony, and one time Tony dominated him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hannahrhen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Privileged](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1351174) by [hannahrhen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen). 



          They were lying together in bed, Tony a thoroughly sated, fucked-out puddle of sweat-moistened limbs flopped on his back against the pillows, Loki lying beside him at an angle with his head propped up on Tony’s chest, long, graceful hands tugging and twisting at the air, making alien fractals form and twist in on themselves and burst apart in rainbows color above them. It was an idle habit of Loki’s, Tony suspected, like Clint’s knitting or Steve’s drawing, and something about that combined with the deliciously painful bruised feeling of his own ass made him drop a hand to Loki’s shoulder, squeeze, and make a remark.

          “You know, I think you’re into this, too.”

          “What— _into?_ ” Loki snorted, made a minute movement with his thumb, and a moment later a jeweled blue droplet dropped out of the fractals above and thunked against Tony’s forehead before disappearing. “Please tell me you don’t think I make a habit of fucking people out of pity, Stark.”

          “That’s not what I meant!” Tony retorted, smacking Loki back—not _too_ hard—with an open palm across the top of his head. “I meant—this.” Thought about wiggling, decided the effort was too much, and patted his own hip in emphasis. “Getting fucked, and fucked, for ages, until you can’t take it any more.”

          The movement of Loki’s hands did not falter, but he received a hum in response. And, “What makes you think that, Stark?”

          “Dunno. You’re tough to pin down.” Tony reached out a hand, tugging his fingers through Loki’s hair. And paused. “But you knew _exactly_ what I was talking about when I brought it up.”

          “Mmm.” He couldn’t see Loki’s face, but the sound did not seem disapproving. “Perhaps.”

          “Perhaps?”

          “Perhaps. Hush now,” said the god of old, dispelling the glimmering lights above with a movement of his hand and pressing Tony down against the blankets with a firm, unyielding hand on his chest.

          *

          Loki said no more about getting fucked that evening, but the next morning, Tony received links to the Wikipedia pages on BDSM and rape fantasy in the middle of a meeting with the Stark Industries development team. When he didn’t look at them immediately, his phone began to play Aqua’s “Barbie Girl” on top volume and refused to stop until Tony opened both links in his browser, doing his best to keep the screen angled away from the managers.

*

          After the meeting, Tony sent Loki a text: “we r going to have to tlk about this more” And then, “*talk”.

          There was no response. Five minutes passed, then ten, and then Tony pulled up the half-completed plans for the Mark VI suit, opening the redesign he was trying to do of its power system to make the whole thing more efficient. Two hours later, the “Avengers, assemble!” alarm went off, and fifteen minutes after that he was in Central Park, aiming energy bolts from his palm-mounted blasters at the eyes of a dragon that Thor described over the comm unit as being “rather small”, whose head rose above the nearby maple trees. Much to Tony’s shame, he appeared to have developed the aim of a stormtrooper out of nowhere, as every single one of his shots missed. In fact…

          “Did that lizard just _eat_ my energy bolt? It just fucking _ate my energy bolt!_ Thor, where are you? Come in, Odinson. Iron Man to the Human Weathervane, I could really use some backup over here.”

          “He’s busy, but he’ll be here,” came Natasha’s voice over the communicator from the quinjet. “The dragon set a school bus on fire over by 5th Ave.”

          “Shit.”

          “You need to focus right now. Air-dropping Captain America to you in three… two…” and he didn’t hear the rest because he was accelerating upwards, flight path followed so closely by the firey exhalation of the invader from Muspellsheimr that he felt something scorching his left boot at the same time as the _“Warning: Excessive temperature!”_ popped up on his visor, coming to hover in the air high above the ground as the beast’s eyes followed him, claws raking deep gouges in the earth.

          “It’s watching you. I think it might try to take off,” came Steve’s voice, and true to his word the monster’s leathery wings flexed, sending scores of leaves flying off the trees to either side. “Do you want me to distract it?”

          “And have it eat you instead? No thanks, I think I can outrun it. Maybe I can get it to follow me over the harbor.”

          “That will bring it over the city and we want to minimalize casualties if we can today,” Natasha replied over the radio. “Steve, take cover. Tony, stay where you are—” and the quinjet released a torpedo that exploded in a fiery blaze against the beast’s left shoulder. It staggered—Tony got off another few shots which landed against its throat—it sank low to the ground, and then…

          It _leaped_ , beating its wings hard enough to flatten nearby saplings, its enormous body rising into the air and its glowing yellow eyes focused directly on Tony.

          “Uh. Guys?”

          Tony increased power on the boot-mounted engines, rising in the air several feet. The dragon’s snout followed him; it opened its mouth at the same time as the propulsion on his left boot went out and he went spinning crazily before he could process the thought to turn on the propulsion on his palms to compensate, and even as he gave the command he was certain he was going to be roasted to death, any second now—

          But when he got the suit back under control and glanced around to get a read on the dragon’s position, he found that at some point he’d gotten his sense of up and down mixed up, and that the dragon was currently on the ground, thrashing but evidently growing weaker as it was encased in ice that streamed from what appeared to be a box that was being held by—yup, that would be Tony’s favorite elder god, looking rather blue.

          “Loki!” Tony heard Steve say, jovial in that way that nobody but Steve could be to any maybe-possibly-hopefully-ex supervillain turned maybe-kinda-possibly-something-or-another-that-involved-sex-with-your-teammate. Loki turned, color returning rapidly to his features, the expression on his face unreadable to Tony at this distance.

          “Dragons are made from metal and fire. Don’t fight metal and fire with _more metal and fire_ , you idiots,” Loki said, and vanished without so much as a glance at Tony.

          Steve raised an eyebrow at Tony as he landed on the grass in front of the dragon-turned-gigantic-glacier-in-the-middle-of-Central-Park. “Wow. What did you do?”

          *

          Tony, of course, had no idea. He sulked his way through the debrief with Fury, through the entire car ride home, and once home, began to rebuild the partially melted components of his suit with such a vengeance that he sent several screws flying and broke one particularly delicate motor component when he tried to screw things together too fast.

          Finally he sat down, wiping his greasy hands off half-heartedly on a filthy dishtowel, and pulled out his phone to glare at the last few exchanges of texts between himself and Loki.

 

_big dinner w/ shareholders tonite. U coming? ;)_

_Why?_

_idk maybe i want to show u off_

_srry forget i said anything_

_i think u left one of ur magic thingies here tho. its a glass ball thing with metal bands around it._ _it looks like there’s a flame made out of purple sparkly lightning things inside._

_My apologies, Stark. I was in the ether and the reception was poor. I’ll be there at 6 pm. Keep the elemental and throw it at the next water-based monster or robot that attacks you._

 

          And then…

_en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BDSM_

_en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rape_fantasy_

_we r going to have to tlk about this more_

_*talk_

 

          Actually, reading over their texts and replaying the time they had spent together in the past few months in his head, Tony was pretty sure things were going well. So why…?

 _Then,_ it hit him. Or he was fairly certain it did, and—well, that was embarrassing. He could have hit himself in the face for his own lapse in intuition. He opened up the texts with Loki again, brought up the text box, typed in his message, and hit ‘send’.

 

 _u actually didn’t need to send me the wiki, ive already heard about this stuff b4 and im pretty familiar. & im totally fine w/ it btw. :)_ _  
_

          His hunch was confirmed when no more than two minutes later, the walls of his workshop dissolved around him and he found himself standing in Loki’s apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

          Loki’s apartment was an Asgardian oasis lit by softly floating golden witchlights. Tony found him sitting perched at the edge of the white leather couch, back perfectly straight, feet bare on the thick carpeting, face tensed in concentration as he held some rippling gray-green liquid pooled in the air, suspended between his raised hands. Littered on the coffee table in front of him were instruments of various forms and apparent ages, little brass spindly things, and a stained, ancient book lying open before him.

“Good evening, Stark,” Loki said, not taking his eyes off of the liquid suspended in front of him. He reached out with his left hand, tapping his fingers over the instruments in front of him, selecting one long needle and skimming the sharp end lightly over the fluid’s surface. The needle came away with a black, oily droplet clinging, which Loki wiped off on a towel before beginning again. “I’m almost done.”

          He looked… _nervous_ , like he was using his work as an excuse not to look him in the eye, Tony thought, and crossed the room, slipping onto the couch beside Loki to wrap him in a firm hug.

          “You know,” he said into the stiffening god’s hair, “I’m the _last_ person in this world to stop having amazing sex with someone just because they’re kinky. And _you_ already know about _my_ kinks. I think it’s only fair I get to learn about yours. You know, so that you won’t be able to blackmail me or sell the stories of Tony Stark’s kinky sexcapades to the tabloids without retaliation if we decide we hate each other one day.”

          Loki’s breath huffed out softly in amusement, and though he didn’t lean into Tony, he didn’t pull away either.

          “So,” said Tony after a moment, releasing Loki and settling back next to him on the couch, one arm draped carelessly over the couch cushions behind him, “You should, you know, tell me.

          “Or not,” he added when Loki smirked and said nothing. “You don’t _have_ to say anything. Maybe I’ll just have to guess. Is it eyeball licking? French maids? Ooh, _sexy accents?_ _‘Ah, monsieur!_ ” he clasped a hand to his chest and batted his eyelashes, “ _Vhy, Mon Dieu!_ — _oo, zat ees_ most _eemproper of you—”_

          The look on Loki’s face was priceless—before he burst out laughing, grin wide and genuine. Seeing that—and the appalled look on Loki’s face—Tony had to laugh, too.

          “Rest assured, Stark,” Loki said finally, still snickering, dropping the liquid he had been working with into a bottle and vanishing everything he had been working with, “That I shall _never_ ask you to do any such thing.”

          “Really? Because _oh, monsieur—_ ”

          “Stark!” Loki clapped a hand over Tony’s mouth, still laughing. Tony grinned. Loki’s hands were warm, and there was a glint in his eye. His thumb tapped, then stroked along the line of Tony’s cheekbone; and when he spoke, his breath was warm on Tony’s face. “You wish to know what I _would_ have you do, Stark?”

          Tony nodded, looking up at the god, his jaw still trapped beneath Loki’s hand.

          “Hmm.” Loki tapped his fingers against Tony’s cheek, then pulled his hand away, but Tony still couldn’t speak. He felt cold, hard metal forming around his jaw, in his mouth, depressing his tongue, so tight to his skin that he wouldn’t even be able to open his mouth.

          “Snap your fingers if you want this off, Stark.”

          Tony didn’t. Holy freaking zero-to-1060, but he didn't. He shook his head, still looking up at Loki, and was rewarded with an affectionate caress to his hair. One of Loki’s hands touched his throat, tracing his pulse, then wrapping around the bare column and squeezing until Tony’s breath whistled thin and high through his nose and Tony’s eyes were wide with silent entreaty.

          Then the hand was removed, and the world was spinning. Tony gasped for breath, chest shuddering as his body forgot the presence of the gag and tried to force air up through his stoppered mouth, shivering at the sudden touch of cool air on tender skin as Loki vanished his clothes and pushed his head down so that his cheek lay flat against the couch cushions, his knees spread and tucked under his hips, leaving his ass vulnerable in the air.

          “I’ve thought of you before, Stark,” and Loki’s voice skittered up over his spine like icewater, burning, as he felt long fingers find his cock and begin to stroke it teasingly. “But not like this,” and those fingers found his balls and squeezed warningly until they drew a broken, wordless whimper from Tony’s throat.

          He heard the faintest hitch in Loki’s breath, the rustle as clothing was divested, the dip in the cushions as Loki shifted position and took hold of Tony’s cock, palming it slowly as the slicked fingers of the other hand spread his cheeks (he squirmed at being so inspected) and delved into his hole, scissoring him wide open so quickly that it took only a moment before Loki inserted a third.

          “What I’ve thought of,” said Loki, “is you. Iron Man. The Avenger.”

          _On his knees before you?_ Tony thought, struggling to push his hips back onto Loki’s fingers, feeling Loki’s cock rubbing precome against his thigh. _Or—not—_

          His hazy thoughts were confirmed a moment later when Loki took a hitching breath and continued. “Iron Man… _avenging._ ” And with that, his hand pressed _hard_ against Tony’s resistance, wedging in the fourth finger and the tip of his thumb just past the ridge of his knuckles, drawing a loud yelp from Tony even through the gag at the sudden, burning pain. He was—he was _burning_ , impaled, split open on Loki’s hand, stretched beyond anything he’d ever taken, legs quaking and dripping sweat, saliva moistening his lips and tracking out from under the gag and down his cheek, dampening the cushions as he whimpered. Tears of pain began to prick at the corners of his eyes.

          “Sh-h-h-h.” He could feel Loki stroking his thigh, pressing comforting kisses to his lower back. “You’re okay, Tony, you’re fine. Can you hear me, Tony? You’re safe.”

          He couldn’t move. His body was clenching jerkily, shuddering around the painful intrusion even as he tried to force himself to relax. “Nnnnnn.”

          “I hear you. Tony, do you remember what I told you before? Do you need to snap your fingers?”

          “Hmmmm.” He paused, considering, as Loki caressed his shoulders, his hair, keeping his hand perfectly still. The tenderness in the touch calmed him, and the pain was already receding to a manageable level, beginning to give way to a different kind of burn, an arousal that curled like bright red electrical coils in his belly at the stretch, the feeling of being filled beyond anything he had thought himself capable of taking. It was more intense than anything he had imagined in those fantasy scenarios he had described to Loki before—but Tony Stark had never been a man to back away from an experience because it was _too intense._

          “Mm-nn.” He craned his head, catching Loki’s eyes. “Mm gnn.”

          “Mm-nn, you don’t want me to stop? You’re good?”

          “Mm-hmm.” He nodded. “Mmm… mm mrr mmin mm mmn-m _mmhmmin.”_

          “...I’m afraid I didn’t catch that last part.” Loki sounded amused now, which was good.

          “Hmr.” Yeah, the stretch of his ass was feeling _very_ nice at this point—nice enough for him to press his hips ( _carefully!!_ ) back against Loki’s hand, earning him a surprised, but definitely not displeased, chuckle.

          But— _ow_. Good _grief,_ the movement _hurt_. Tony could feel his eyes watering—but he could also feel his cock swelling again, hot and heavy between his legs, so sensitive and tender that he jerked squirmed and _mewled_ , a sound he’d never heard himself make before, when Loki’s seeking hand slipped between his legs.

          “Look at you.” Loki’s voice was heavy with affection, the one hand soft on his cock, the other pressing deeper inside him by minute degrees. “You greedy thing. So hungry for _everything_ I give you, pain and pleasure both.”

          “Mrm hrm.” He squirmed, hips moving in circles against Loki’s hands of their own accord. “Mm mrr mmhmim. Mm mmi.”

          “What, Stark? One moment.” He whined in disapproval as the hand left his cock, earning a chuckle from Loki. He felt the shift in weight as the god leaned over him, a hand stretching out to press against his temple. For a moment he thought Loki would take the gag off, and disapproved of that too, making grumbling _hm’s_ in the back of his throat; then Loki tugged sharply at his hair, warning him to “Behave, pet." _(Tony's cock jumped hard at the term of address.)_ "Focus and think of what you were trying to tell me.”

          Tony breathed deep, squirmed, thought _avenging?_ , and took great satisfaction at the shift of genuine surprise the god made behind him. Loki recovered quickly, however, pulling his hand back from Tony’s temple with only a quick caress to his damp hair and cheek betraying sentiment.

          “Fuck yourself, Tony. On my hand. No,” Loki said, voice lowering, layered with menace and lust and the merciless cruelty of a god of old whose favor could be bestowed and then ripped away without a moment’s notice. “Harder than that. I want you to tear yourself open chasing your pleasure. I want your hole fucked so wide open that you find yourself needing to keep it plugged up when it’s not in use.”

          Tony let out a whimpering cry at those words that was stifled behind his muzzle, rocking himself more and more roughly against Loki’s fist in his ass. Only when every movement of his hips forced little broken sounds from his throat did Loki tell him “Good. Keep doing that,” with a pat on his hip.

          “As for _avenging_ , Stark—that’s what I’ve thought of. _You,_ the Avenger… taking your vengeance on me… without mercy.”

          Loki’s hand was on Tony’s cock again, allowing him to thrust back and forth within the warm circle of his fingers as he split himself open on Loki’s hand. There was a hitch in Loki’s voice as he spoke—nervousness or arousal, Tony couldn’t be sure—perhaps _both_ , considering the nature of the things Loki spoke of.

          “Do not misunderstand, Tony, it isn’t _you_ , Tony Stark, the man I— _know_ , that I think of when I think of this. But the _warrior_ —the mighty Midgardian hero, encased in armor that wipes away every vulnerability and every human expression—the Iron Man, oh, most certainly yes.

          “And that warrior, Tony—he brings me down. We have fought, and he has brought me low, struck me to the ground with a blow that lays me flat on my back.

          "I try to cast, but something interferes—perhaps you’ve invented something that dampens magic, or perhaps I’m exhausted—but either way, it is useless. And that implacable warrior strides over to where I lie. He looks down at me and I lock eyes with that mask whose expression never changes, never giving away a hint of emotion that would allow me to speak to him, find some way to convince him to have mercy on me. There is not a hint of weakness in him—but I know, as I lie there staring up at him, that he can see my fear—

          “I said _keep going,_ Stark,” Loki added sharply, giving his hand a little twist inside Tony as a warning, prompting him to speed up motions that had grown slow and distracted during Loki’s telling. “Faster. Good, that’s better. Shall we go on?”

          “Nnnnn. Mm-hmm.”

          “Good. All right then, Stark…

          “I look up at him in fear, and then what I would not dare to think of comes to pass. He touches me with those cold, metal hands, bares my flesh, even though I grab his wrist and try to negotiate—offer him anything I can think of, swear I’ll never raise my hand to him again if he just lets me go, if he just doesn’t hurt me… and he, naturally, doesn’t listen. He… I…”

          Tony’s entire body jerked and a high, sharp, animal sound burst from him as the hand in his ass suddenly punched in a little deeper, accompanied by a rather maliciously appreciative _mmm_ from Loki. He twisted to glare over his shoulder at the god, who was smirking at him without a hint of repentance. In fact—Loki did it _again_ , and Tony squawked. “Nnnn!”

          Loki took his hand off Tony’s (still painfully erect) cock and slapped him hard on the ass. “Your disobedience irks me. How many times do I have to tell you to keep moving, pet?”

          “Mm _mmrm_ mr.” Tony whined with feeling—but pushed his hips back obediently, fucking himself the way he knew Loki was looking for, hard enough to make him whimper at being split so wide open. His cock was hard, rubbing sticky fluid against his stomach, and he wanted to hear the end of what Loki had to say—and, well, if Loki was going to insist upon domming the hell out of him every time feelings came up for discussion, there were _definitely_ more unpleasant things the god could do relieve anxiety. Loki reached down and pinched one of his nipples, twisting _hard_ at the tone he took; he squeaked loudly and ducked his head, and apparently his submission was enough to satisfy Loki, because he continued.

          “He pins me down, flat on my back, and his hands force their way between my thighs to push them apart. I try to squeeze them together, but his strength is far greater than mine—he pushes them apart again, and then he’s kneeling between my legs and there’s nothing I can do. I beg him, then—I ask him not to do this, plead with him not to make me. Tell him _please,_ and _no,_ and _don’t do this to me._ Say that _I can’t do this._ And I squirm and struggle and try to push him away. All of which is useless, as I cannot hope to move him, and he lends no ear to my pleas.

          “Then—he breaches me. Paying no heed to my cries. It is more than I have ever taken in my life, more than I _can_ take. I cry out, tell him _no_ and _please stop,_ and this too he ignores. His cock is _enormous_ , and for all my squirming I cannot escape it—can barely even move under his weight as he saws back and forth inside me, moving closer to completion.”

          There was definitely a hitch in Loki’s voice now, as his hand withdrew slowly from Tony’s ass. The feeling of being emptied so suddenly was uncomfortable and left his guts threatening to cramp, and he whined and squirmed and twisted his head to try and see what Loki was doing until he felt the god taking hold of his hips, lining himself up with his ass, and sliding in with an easy that was truly extraordinary.

          “I won’t be made to take sloppy seconds from my own hand just because you need something up your hole all the time, Stark,” said Loki primly, his voice like a dagger wrapped in silk, and _ooh_ Tony was going to put Nair in princess’ conditioner for that even if it did make all the blood in his body rush straight into his cock. “Clench up for me. Now.”

          He did his best, feeling himself twitch and flex jerkily as he tried to hold the squeeze, burying his face in the couch cushions and clenching his fists until they turned white at the knuckles from the effort, throaty moans and whimpers spilling from his mouth behind the gag—then full, high-pitched cries as Loki took hold of him harder than before and harder than he normally did, forcing his hips forward with his thrusts and rubbing hard against that part of his rearranged insides.

          Then he was shooting towards long-overdue orgasm, spurting over the couch; and luckily for his abused ass it wasn’t long before Loki was as well, pushing hard into Tony as he held his hips in a punishing grasp.

          He was dimly aware of Loki collapsing against him briefly before pulling back and rising from the couch, stroking his damp hair and shoulder, gently tugging the gag from his mouth and soothing the indents left on saliva-moistened cheeks with soft fingers. Then there were hands tipping him over, sliding under his back and his knees and lifting him up, carrying him some distance before depositing him onto the large, comfortably squishy bed Loki kept in the apartment. He felt the dip in the bed as Loki got on and crawled up, laying himself down beside Tony and working long fingers into his hair; and he _meant_ to open his mouth and say something, but before he could, he fell asleep.

*

          He woke up to find Loki still awake, scooted up against the headboard with a book in one hand, the other still loosely tangled in Tony’s hair. A million different options for what to say first ran through his head (including “You’re so cute when you’re reading” and “So, about that, uh, fantasy you told me about”), but since he was Tony Stark, the first thing he actually said was:

          “So, _are_ you going to have to shove your hand up my ass every time you need to talk about your feelings? Because it kinda feels like it got reamed by a truck right now.”

          “Good morning to you too, Stark,” Loki replied archly, looking down at him over the spine of his book. “You _were_ the one who told me you wanted to try it. But here, hold still, I can—”

          “No, actually, don’t just yet.” He rolled over onto his side with a groan, pointing his ass away from Loki for emphasis. “It’s kind of nice. I’ll keep it like this for a bit longer.”

          The god raised an eyebrow. “…Masochist.”

          “As if _you’ve_ got any room to talk, Mr. Iron Man Rape Fantasy.”

          There was no response from Loki—just a minute stiffening of his shoulders, a narrowing of his eyes. Tony sighed, rolled his eyes, looked around for a pillow to throw at him, found only the one currently under his head, and settled for jabbing the god in the thigh instead.

          “You know, I _meant_ it when I said it was fine. That doesn’t necessarily mean I’m ready to listen to you asking me to stop and ignoring that request when I fuck you—and I’m not saying no either, by the way, if that’s what turns you on, but I _am_ saying that we would have to talk about this quite a bit more before doing something like that—and you are _far_ from the first person to have fantasies like that. And I know you know that, Mr. ‘Tell Me Everything About Your Deepest Darkest Fantasies And Trust Me I’ve Probably Already Guessed What At Least Half Of Them Are’.”

          Loki snorted. “Well, it doesn’t exactly make for the kind of thing that your parents would be proud to hear about.”

          “Yeah, well. That's true of almost everything I've ever done, and that certainly hasn’t stopped me from enjoying it.”

          “Hm, well... you _are_ rather easy.”

          “Hey!”

          “It’s only the truth.”

          “ _Lies._ God of Lies. Asshole. Maybe you're the God of Assholes.”

          The look on Loki’s face was immediately far too thoughtful, prompting Tony to immediately hurry on. “Anyway though, I’m serious, we should talk more about this. These kinks of yours, I mean. Maybe over dinner—or is it lunch?—either way, I’m fucking starving. You can still do that eavesdropping-prevention thing, right? Natasha told me that there’s some ultra-classy French place near here called Le Gren—Green—La Green Wheel or something. You like French.”

          “Of course I can, and that sounds fine,” Loki agreed, though something about his expression still looked… closed-off. Troubled. And he hadn’t even bothered to take offense at Tony questioning his godly powers.

          “And, you know, if you _don’t_ want to talk about it, you don’t have to. I just think we should, since, you know, you’ve been awfully nice about indulging _my_ weird kinks and all.”

          “You _are_ bizarre,” the god replied, evidently electing not to grace the first part of Tony’s statement with a response.

          “Yup, just the way you like me, baby.” Tony grinned. Loki rolled his eyes, but did not disagree.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's a bit tongue-tied when it comes to talking about his weird fetishes. Tony tries to help him out by talking about an anecdote from the kinkier side of his own past.
> 
> Warning: This anecdote contains enemas, a LOT of crying, and a fairly intense BDSM scene that goes briefly out of control, and will thus not be for everyone. Oh, and someone gets safeworded. Some content which might be construed as dubcon at the end of the chapter, though I wrote the scene having attempted to establish that Tony has a long-running habit of putting up token resistance to a lot of things and has access to a safeword when doing so which he feels comfortable with using and which his partners respect. (That safeword is used in the context of this scene, and the safeword is respected.)

          It didn’t go well.

          They _tried._ They really did. But the second Tony had Loki’s fist _out_ of his ass long enough to feel less like he’d been fucked by the Hulk, composed himself, and put his clothes back on, Loki’s ability to talk simply evaporated. Tony could tell it was going to go poorly the second he had his pants back on and walked out to the kitchen to find that Loki had filled the sink with hissing black snakes.

          He tried suggesting that they stay home, but Loki had already worked himself into _that_ mindset—the one where he was determined to push himself beyond all manner of reason and every offer of assistance offended him. Tony steeled himself to the possibility of spending the night on the couch cursed with a few extra noses and didn’t ask again.

          To Loki’s credit, he _did_ try. First he sound-shielded the table. Then he surrounded them with an impenetrably opaque black film to shut out the sight of the people around them, which created quite the odd impression when the waiter walked right out of the void to bring their orders—his appearance putting a look of unreasonable, self-conscious disgust on Loki’s face that would have been funny if Tony hadn’t been himself so uncomfortable.

          Finally Loki tossed a far larger than necessary amount of money down on the table—between his royal heritage and lack of familiarity with standard Midgardian prices and money, it was a habit that Tony had yet to get him to break, but he supposed it was at least better than not paying enough—snatched Tony’s arm, and teleported them so violently into his own bedroom in Asgard that the landing sent Tony staggering painfully into a desk.

          He picked himself up, wincing, to find Loki fixing _him_ with a lip-curling glare of contempt. He was about to open his mouth to demand _what are you looking at me like that for,_ when Loki spoke and pre-empted him, eyes shining in frustrated rage.

          “Stark—I _hate_ this.”

          Oh—so Tony wasn’t the target of that contempt after all. The engineer sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “We don’t _have_ to talk about it if you don’t want to. Or you can make me suck your cock while you tell me or something. It’s fine. But like I told you earlier…”

          “I _know_.” Loki sounded both furious and shamed and petulant. _Not_ dangerous—but upset and inclined to lash out and find reasons to hate himself in everything he did. Tony wanted to hug him but refrained, knowing by experience that the motion would just make Loki feel even more despicable than before. Instead, he braced his hands on the desk behind him and lifted himself to sit on it, swinging his legs in the air.

          “Yeah, I know you know, but I was just saying. How about this— _I_ tell _you_ about one of the grosser things _I’ve_ done, and then we can talk a little more about stuff I can do the next time I fuck you to… help you out a bit. Not the _whole nine yards_ necessarily, but smaller things.”

          Loki scowled, wrapping his arms around himself and turning his shoulders in, but his eyebrow had quirked in natural curiosity at the mention of ‘grosser things I’ve done’, so Tony counted that at least as a win. “Does that sound good? Would you like me to tell you?”

          The god made a lofty waving motion with his hand. “Please do.”

          “Okay. But, uh…” Tony shifted himself backwards on the desk, feeling suddenly a tad uncomfortable. “You are _not_ allowed to use this to blackmail me later on.”

          “Oh, Stark, of _course_ I wouldn’t _.”_

          He decided to ignore that.

          “All right. So… see, back in my, er, misspent youth, I spent some time in a relationship with this dom-type girl who was really, _really_ into giving men enemas…”

*

          The name of the girl was Meena. They met at a robotics convention. She was brilliant, snarky, had long black hair, and wore masses of thin wire bracelets that tinkled softly as she gestured. And, as Tony discovered when they ran into each other at a kink party later that night, she also liked to lock her boyfriends’ cocks in cages and strap them into fucking machines for hours on end. Tony liked being on the receiving end of both of these things. It was pretty much meant to be.

          Still, he hadn’t really been expecting _this._

          “Ugh. Meena _. Ow._ It hurts, you asshole. I need to _go.”_

          The scientist just grinned at him from her perch on the bathroom counter, where she was swinging her legs back and forth against the cabinets and watching him squat, naked and miserable, on the tile floor. “Aww, is baby having trouble?”

          _“Yes._ ” And he _was._ His belly was swollen with what felt like a gallon of some ungodly ice-cold witches’ brew, a butt plug of punishing proportions shoved up his ass to enforce retention. Inside, his guts were roiling, twisting and shrieking in protest at being forced to take on the entirety of the solution that Meena (the evil, evil woman) had mixed up in the kitchen that morning. He’d never been aware that cramps like this were even _possible,_ squeezing his abdomen in agonizing waves that made him whimper in a voice so high-pitched that he was aware he sounded like he was being kicked repeatedly in the balls. Most humiliatingly, he had never needed to go to the bathroom more in his entire life—yet between the enormous butt plug and Meena’s cheerily-proclaimed threat to do the whole thing again with twice the volume of solution should he fail to hold it, he _could not_ get relief. And he knew, _he knew,_ as much as he had ever known anything in his life, that when he finally got permission to take the thing out and expel the horrible concoction the results were not going to be graceful or pretty. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if he didn’t manage to make it to the toilet.

          He made another miserable noise, shifting his weight in an awkward duck-walk, and glared up at his girlfriend through teary eyes. “I’m serious. This is _not_ fun. I fucking _hate_ you.”

          “You having fun is not the point of the exercise, darling.” Meena’s grin grew even wider, utterly merciless. “You know exactly what to say if you want it to stop. But just so you know, sweetie, if you manage to get through this, I will enthusiastically indulge your weird-as-fucking-hell Game of Thrones brother-sister incest fantasy. I will call you ‘Jaime’ or even ‘brother’ and _beg_ you to fuck my royal twat until I’m pregnant with your kingslayer spawn. But _only_ if you manage to get through this.”

          Tony let out a horrified, shamefully aroused, _miserable_ moan at that, sniffling pathetically. _“Meena!_ Oh god. You’re _mean._ Why do you hate me?”

*

          “Hold on. You had…” Loki broke in, looking a little worried and mostly appalled, “A sibling incest fantasy?”

          Tony rubbed his neck sheepishly. “I guess I’ve gotten off on a lot of weird shit.”

          “But _incest?”_

          That seemed a little unfair. “Hey, _you_ don’t have any business going all Moral Majority on me!”

          Loki didn’t appear to take offense to that, which Tony took as a sign that his attempt to use enema stories (and, he supposed, now also that whole Jaime/Cersei thing) to put the god at ease about his own freaky desires were working.

          “And anyway, it’s not like _real_ incest. It’s just a kinky thing. Like your… thing, or like calling someone ‘Daddy’. You know, that sort of stuff.”

          That appeared to have been the wrong thing to say, though, because Loki’s mildly worried expression transformed into a full on ‘ew’ face at the mention of ‘Daddy’. “Oh, norns. _Why?”_

          …This could get complicated. “Um. Because it’s hot, I guess? People like to be taken care of when they’re helpless. You don’t have to do it though, I was never really into the daddy-kink stuff.”

          “Yes, I shall gladly refrain.”

          “Then that’s settled.” Tony grinned. “Shall I go on?”

          “Please.”

*

          He yelped when Meena leaned over and snapped the riding crop, _hard_ , across his shoulders. The shock of pain made him jump, sending a wave of horrible cramping through him as the fluid sloshed dangerously within his distended abdomen, making him nauseous. Clutching desperately at his agonized belly, wiping his nose and blinking back tears, he almost missed his girlfriend’s comment:

        “If you’re together enough to be whining like that, you _clearly_ aren’t in enough pain right now. You brat.”

          “No-o-o-o.” He groaned, hunkering protectively over his beleaguered stomach, shaking his head. It felt like an enormous hand had reached inside his abdominal cavity, taken hold of the organs therein, and was now trying to pull them out through his ass, twisting violently along the way. His belly was unnaturally firm and tender to the touch, the muscles of his ass twitching and clenching occasionally around the gigantic butt plug as if to remind him that he technically wasn’t built to have something that large up inside him—especially not with that much pressure being exerted on it from the front as the solution within him tried to force its way out. “I _am_ in pain. It _hurts._ No more.”

          “A little more,” His girlfriend disagreed, scooting off the counter and carding delicate fingers into his sweaty hair. He let out a pitiful noise and buried his face against her leg, struggling to breathe evenly as new waves of cramps, worse than before, rolled through his body.

          “Don’t wanna.”

          Meena laughed and pinched his ear. “But you _do_ want me to be your beloved sister, don’t you?”

          “Ugh.” She just _had_ to phrase it that way.

          “Until I hear ‘deep blue’ I’m going to assume you’re ready to suffer a little more for me.”

          _“Ugh.”_ He snuffled and hugged himself. “Ow.”

          “Not kidding, Tony. Go clean the living room, or safeword me. Your choice.”

          She was _evil._ But she left the riding crop on the counter and didn’t pick it up again, letting him take his time struggling to his feet. It hurt too much for him to straighten all the way up, so hunched over he remained, protectively supporting the weight of his own overburdened gut, knees pressed together in an instinctive attempt to _hold it_ as the muscles in his ass reminded him that they weren’t quite happy about the butt plug or the contents it was holding back. It was, he decided, the most humiliating thing he’d ever experienced. He had to walk down the _hall_ like that, bowlegged, slightly pigeon-toed, and clenching his ass cheeks, expressing his vocal disapproval as Meena poked and prodded him from behind, _giggling,_ because she was definitely the worst person _ever._ He _hated_ it. He hated _everything._ He had no idea what had gotten into him to start dating this sadist of a girlfriend…

          “And you’re even hard for me now.” She reached around him and _patted his dick_ like it was some kind of small, adorable animal. “Damn. You really are a trooper, Tony.”

          He mewled softly at the praise.

          Cleaning the living room was _hard._ He wasn’t normally the type to get on his hands and knees and crawl while performing service unless someone _made_ him do so, but most of what he was going to have to pick up was on the floor or the coffee table—pillows and throw blankets next to the couch, piles of books and magazines next to the bookshelves, a couple of old take-out containers on the coffee table. Walking and bending over made him feel fat, bloated, and dizzy, so hanging on to the bookshelf for support, he sank down onto his knees, keeping his heels slightly apart to prevent them from jostling the _fucking_ plug that felt like it was turning his ass into one gigantic bruise. The stupid intrusive thing was fucking _merciless,_ hard plastic stretching his unhappy flesh without a millimeter of give. He couldn’t get comfortable. He decided that he thought he might be _bleeding_ (and oh, would she be sorry if he died of a perforated bowel thanks to her evilness!) _._ Everything hurt. Still, he soldiered on, putting things in order while scooting around humiliatingly on his ass, thinking Lannister thoughts to remind himself of why he hadn’t put a stop to this yet while Meena stretched out on the couch with a book, indifferent to his misery.

          (He felt a stab of sulky annoyance at being so ignored and whimpered pitifully a few times, quite satisfied to see her glance over to check on him.)

          Despite his misgivings and unhappiness, he managed to get most of the way through the living room, at last finding himself with only the old takeout containers to dispose of. Feeling triumphant, he didn’t even groan at the prospect of shuffling all the way down the hallway to the kitchen, though he couldn’t help the sniffle and the tears that sprang to his eyes at the awful pains that rolled through his abdomen as he hauled himself to his feet. Still, his movements were quicker than before (if distorted thanks to the contorted way he held himself to try and mitigate the pain) as he picked up the containers and set off for the kitchen using the most efficient waddle he could muster, clinging to the wall for support.

          He was about halfway there when he realized he was in trouble. The cramps that had been close to unmanageable before were increasing in force, becoming full-on muscle spasms—brought on by, he guessed through the fog of agony blanketing his brain, his own sudden movement. Tears welled up in his eyes as he hunched over. It hurt. It _hurt._ He didn’t know how to manage this. He _couldn’t._

          But he was _almost there._

          He was so, _so_ close. He _couldn’t_ quit now.

          His mouth opened in a silent shriek as a muscle on the left side of his stomach began to tighten inexorably, far past his endurance. He was stopped up and waterlogged and seemed to have lost all control of his own body, muscles in his middle unresponsive to his frantic attempts to rub away the beginnings of the cramps. He _needed_ to go to the bathroom, but he couldn’t. He was nearly desperate enough to just go right then and there and _take_ the consequences, but he couldn’t even do that—the plug was too large and his tormented flesh had swelled around it. He couldn’t shit it out, no matter how hard his spasming body tried and he couldn’t bring himself to reach around and deliberately try to work it out of his ass.

          _He just needed to get to the kitchen,_ came the thought through his miserable, teary fog. Just the kitchen. Only a few steps and he would be done. Just a few steps. But those few steps were nearly beyond endurance, and he was crying in earnest by the time he staggered into the room, clutching the takeout containers against his stomach. He nearly wailed in frustrated agony when he found that there was no bag in the trash bin, waddling bowlegged over to the sink to pull the—

          There were no trash bags under the sink.

          He stared for a moment in uncomprehending horror. No, _no,_ Meena _always_ kept her trash bags under the sink. Had she _moved_ them in anticipation of exactly this? No, no, _no,_ it wasn’t fair, she couldn’t _do_ that. He was almost done! He felt shuddering, painful sobs coming on, exacerbated by his own helpless body’s inability to stop fucking _cramping_. His girlfriend had moved the fucking trash bags and what was he going to do if he couldn’t _find_ them, he was going to lie down and _die_ here, naked and in hell and stuffed up like a goddamned turkey and it hurt so badly he was pretty sure he _was_ going to die…

*

          Tony broke off in his story, noticing the worried look on Loki’s face. “What?”

          “Stark…” The god’s hands twitched in his lap. “Did you actually _enjoy_ any of this?”

          “Oh, well…” Tony frowned and chewed his lip. “You mean, like, right then? While I was having a breakdown in the kitchen? At that moment, no, not really…”

          Loki drew his legs up against his chest where he was sitting on the bed, wrapping his arms around them and interlacing his fingers. “Then… she did hurt you? For true?”

          _Oh._ Tony shook his head and laughed. “No. Well—I mean, yes, but no. But yes. I mean, it was something that I agreed to, and she pushed me harder than that plenty of times—and keep in mind that most of the time, I _liked_ being reduced to tears. My little kitchen breakdown wasn’t really her fault—it happened _fast,_ and it happened because I really didn’t know how to move while taking an enema of that size. I guess maybe you could say she fucked up a little by not keeping a closer eye on me when it was my first time doing a scene with an enema at all, but she did catch on that something wasn’t right really quickly when I didn’t come back to the living room right away. I just haven’t gotten to that part yet.”

          Loki still had that kicked-puppy look on his face, so Tony scooted off the desk and unfolded himself on the bed beside him, nudging Loki’s knees down so that Tony could get his head in Loki’s lap. “What’re you thinking?”

          “Just… wondering how you could _possibly_ have been aroused during this.” The reply was uncommonly honest. “You make it sound like torture.”

          This was ground where he would have to tread very, _very_ carefully. “It _definitely_ wasn’t. Not the kind you’re thinking of, the kind I know you and I have both been through. I did lose it for a bit, but everything that happened I did with someone I loved and trusted and knew was competent enough not to, like, _kill_ me through negligence. Not to mention that nothing we did was anywhere near as extreme as the actual torture method versions. And I _did_ get off on it—later. She sucked my cock in the shower after I was cleaned up, and as weird as it might sound right now, I jerked off to that memory a _lot_ later on.”

          “To the memory of yourself in tears?”

          “You put it _so_ dramatically, but yes. Actually, I made it worse—in my fantasies she was a lot meaner. I had her deliberately make me cry like that and, uh…” How to put this delicately? “Fail to hold it.”

          His not-boyfriend sucked in a deep breath, looking away. “Is this something you’re going to want me to… to… to you?”

          Now _that_ was one loaded question, wasn’t it? “You don’t have to? I mean, I’m perfectly happy with what we’re doing now. It’s been a long time since I played really hard with any kind of regularity. And, I mean, what _gets me off_ is mostly stuff you already know—domination, degradation, humiliation. Ownership. Kneeling at someone’s feet and having them boss me around. Vulnerability. I’m not even _really_ a masochist and I’m definitely not a pain slut—I don’t like pain in and of itself, but it’s nice to be able to endure it, and it can make a good fantasy and be a nice way to emphasize that someone else is in control.”

          “So… you _don’t_ like it?” Loki was looking hopelessly confused.

          “I _do_ like it. I’m just saying that having my limits pushed, including to the point of doing things I _don’t_ like, _is_ something that I like—sorry, I know it sounds weird—within reason. But I’m also saying that it’s something I _can_ live without.”

          “Hmm.” The god was nodding slowly—remembering, Tony suspected, his own recently-confessed fantasy of being pushed to do things he ‘didn’t’ want to do. “That _does_ make sense. I think.”

          “Think on it a bit more, if you want to. Do you want me to finish?”

          “Go ahead.”

*

          He was crying hard and shaking when Meena showed up, sitting on his ass on the floor in front of the sink and clutching those old containers to his hurting stomach. The tiles creaked under her feet when she arrived, prompting him to try, and fail, at cutting off his sobs. The pain was overwhelming and _constant,_ and he wanted it to be over—he had thought it _was_ over but it felt like it was _never_ going to be over. He’d thought he had done well and now _this_ and he couldn’t scrape enough of his nerves back together to stop crying.

          “Tony?” Her voice was soft and concerned, not taunting, a fact that his clouded brain immediately seized and held onto. “Sweetheart, what happened? What’s wrong?”

          He turned, dropping the containers to clutch at her legs, burying his face against her thigh and hiccupping in hysterics. He couldn’t talk. He _couldn’t._ Everything was awful. He whimpered when she pulled away and clung to her when she sat down beside him, gathering him into her arms and stroking his hair. But he _needed_ to be finished, he _had_ to be, so he clutched at her shirt and gathered his strength enough to haltingly choke out “Where… where’d you put… the trash bags?”

          “The… trash bags?”

          “F-for… the trash.” He felt stupid and started crying harder. “F-from the living r-room.”

          “The… oh. _OH!_ Oh. Tony, I’m so sorry—I just bought new ones today. They’re in a bag in the garage somewhere—but no, wait, sweetie, sh-h,” she soothed when he let out a miserable cry at the prospect of hauling his naked cramping ass all the way out to the garage in search of them, “It’s okay. You don’t have to go find them. In fact, I’m not even totally sure I _did_ buy them, now that I think of it.”

          That comforted him a little—if she didn’t even have trash bags, there was no way he could be expected to throw anything out properly. It wasn’t his fault. (He squished any suspicion of Meena lying to make him feel better.) Yet the thought of being unable to complete his task left him stupefied and a little panicked. “B-but… I… I have to f-finish.”

          “Oh, you _will.”_ Her voice was dry as she petted his shoulder. “You’re not completely done suffering yet.”

*

          “Are you _fucking_ _serious?”_ Loki squawked.

          “Oh, no, calm down.” Tony coughed and suppressed a bout of laughter—it was probably a bad idea for him to snicker whenever the god expressed concern for his well-being. “That was completely for my benefit. You know how I don’t like to feel like I backed out of something early.”

          That appeared to mollify the god—slightly. “You’re an _idiot._ ”

          Tony shrugged. “I know. Anyway…”

*

          Meena was still talking. “You’re going to get up and come with me, and you’re going to walk all the way to the bathroom, do you understand me? And we’re going to take that plug out of you and hose you off and then you can be my _very clean_ slutty boy. Think you can do that, sweetheart?”

          He didn’t trust himself to talk, so he just nodded, still crying. He whimpered when she gently pried his fingers from her shirt and stood, tugging at his hands. “Come on. Up you get.”

          She didn’t scold him when he had to halt every few steps on the way to the bathroom, letting him cling to her and sniffle against her neck, rubbing his back and his sides and murmuring encouragement and praise into his ear. Nor did she say anything unkind to him as her lube-slicked fingers worked at the butt plug to pull it free of his ass while he stood in the bathtub, or make fun of him for anything that followed. She just hugged him and kissed his hair, telling how good he was, what a great job he’d done, that she was proud. He calmed quickly under the touch, finally standing blissfully still under a stream of hot water as she tugged off her clothes and proceeded to rinse him off, soothing the lingering pains in his stomach with warmth and gentle touches. He was relaxed to the point of almost purring when she finally knelt and took him into her mouth, and he groaned his pleasure when she slid a well-slicked finger into his _very_ clean, oversensitive ass, the motion smooth and almost devoid of resistance. She had him come on her face and grinned up at him after, licking drops of his semen off her lips, bringing a hand up to wipe off the rest and lick it off her fingers—her eyes sliding shut as her tongue darted out, as if eating his come was the best thing in the world that she lived for.

          “Mmm…” She licked her lips one more time and then swallowed, leaning forward to press a reverent kiss to his cock. “Good boy. Feeling better?”

          He was floating on an orgasmic cloud. “Very.”

          “Think you’ll ever let me do that to you again?”

          “Oh, lord.” He laughed and sat down in the tub next to her. “That was _intense._ But yes. Probably. I think so. I don’t know why I lost it so hard earlier. Maybe all this male submission is making me hormonal.”

         “I think you were hurting more than I realized and when something happened that you weren’t expecting, it pushed you over the edge.” Her eyes were large and serious. “And I hope you’ll forgive me.”

          “Nah, I don’t think I need to.” He shrugged. “I was managing okay until literally the last second when I was walking to the kitchen. I just cramped up really bad and lost my shit a little.”

          “Nonetheless.” She stuck an arm out and tugged him closer. “I’m going to make sure to be the best Cersei Lannister that’s ever walked this earth. Er… ignoring the fact that the real Cersei Lannister technically has never walked this earth.”

          He turned to rest against her, letting the water run over them both, and took the opportunity to feel her up. And smirked. “Well, I’m definitely not going to complain about that.”

*

          “And for the record, she _was_ a damn good Cersei Lannister.” Tony reached up to give Loki an awkwardly angled, sympathetic pat. “So you can stop looking at me all suspiciously right now. No harm, no foul, and like I said—I have jerked off to the supposedly ‘bad’ part of that memory more times than I can remember, and incorporated even grosser elements into the fantasy than the things she actually did.”

          “I know, I know—and I’m not looking at you ‘all suspiciously’, Stark.” Loki looked a little peeved.

          “Then what was that look for?”

          “…Do you truly want to know?”

          “Of course I do.” He prodded Loki in the chest. “And whatever it is, you can always lie and give me a nice answer, but I’d rather know the real one.”

          Loki grabbed his hand by the wrist, holding it away from his chest. “Quit poking me, you idiot. And… I was thinking that when one gets past all the...  _tears,_ this does _not_ sound like anywhere near as extreme a _concept_ as I was expecting. I thought you were going to tell me something rather more like… that incestuous thing your lover bribed you with.”

          “The Lannister fantasy? That was _not_ that kinky. It’s practically vanilla once you get past the fact that they call each other ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ the whole time.”

          Loki looked slightly confused at the reference to ‘vanilla’ and appeared to disagree with the notion that the ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ thing was a minor matter to get over, but went on. “Or that fantasy about _failing to hold it_ that you admitted to pleasuring yourself with.”

          “Ahhhhhhh.” Tony covered his face with his free hand. “That one’s _really_ embarrassing.” He realized a beat later that this was literally the worst thing he could possibly have said.

          “...Oh, but _Stark._ ” And an evil grin was spreading over Loki’s face, right on cue. “I’m _interested.” And I’m not going to let this go until you tell me everything in all its horrible detail,_ the tone of voice added.

          Tony groaned. Oh, great. Woe was him. He was screwed. And apparently ‘evil’ was a quality he tended to go for in his partners. This was what he got for fucking all of the world’s biggest shitheads, he reprimanded himself, as he scrambled to save the situation.

          “No. _No._ If you’re going to drag that one out of me, do it in the context of a scene so that I can at least get off on being humiliated.”

         “Shall I take that as an invitation to _make_ you tell me then, Stark?” Loki’s voice was slick and dangerous, and his free hand was sliding not-so-subtly up the inside of Tony’s thigh. Tony’s right wrist was still trapped in Loki’s grip, but he reached down to slap Loki’s hand away with his left.

          “No! Not right now.” Loki was not letting up. “Gyah, you cosmic-level shithead, I said no! We are _not_ talking about this right now. I am _not_ in the mood, and— _oh god._ ” Those were Loki’s fingers, oh-so-innocently tracing the outline of his cock through his pants, making his hips jerk helplessly upward.

          “Yes, Stark, that _is_ what I am.” And the god was _grinning,_ eyes sparkling with mischief that Tony hated to quench but _did not want to be sated on him right now._

          _“Loki!_ Ugh.” He groaned, arching up against the feather-light touches, growing more serious. He was pretty sure he was fine with telling Loki at some point, but he was _not_ going to back down on the 'now' bit. “No. Look—I’ll do it later, I promise, but right now— _ahh,_ oh _god—_ don’t. I don’t want to. I’m serious, it makes me really— _oh._ Please, Loki. Later. Something else right now. _Quicksilver._ ”

          The fingers on him disappeared instantaneously, pulling an involuntary, disappointed cry from his throat, his hips jerking into empty air, his cock hard and aching with need. He saw Loki quirk an eyebrow at him in sardonic amusement—almost enough to cover up some definite disappointment.

          “Am I to be the only one to speak of things which shame me, Stark?”

          He covered his face with one hand. _“No—_ I wasn’t saying that. I know it makes me sound kind of hypocritical, but it _does_ make me really self-conscious. And I’m sorry, I realize you trusted me first, and I _will_ tell you—it’s just— _ugh._ I didn’t really come here prepared to talk about that stuff. And I’m not kidding about how self-conscious it makes me—you should know, if all the teary stuff bothers you, that talking about that might seriously make me cry.”

          There was a long pause before Loki responded. “I have no desire to hurt you, Anthony—at least, not that badly.” Unusually honest. “Not like that. I would have you kneeling at my feet and taking what I give you because _you_ , selfish thing, desire it—not kneeling there shaking in tears and misery because I delight in making you weep.” Loki’s fingers had come back, chastely touching his face, carding into his hair. “But lay bare your soul—perhaps. Liesmith I am called, and yet you know _so_ much more of what hurts me than I know of what hurts you.”

          _Urgh._ Tony made a face. Loki had a point—Tony knew, off the top of his head, about: Loki’s attempted suicide; Loki being Jotun; Loki _hating_ being Jotun; Loki’s deep-seated and unfortunately somewhat justified suspicion that his father didn’t love him; Loki’s huge inferiority complex as pertaining to his older brother; and now, Loki’s socially unacceptable sexual fantasy. As far as Tony was aware, Loki knew: that Tony also didn’t think his father had loved him, and that Tony had a long and storied history in the kink scene.

          It didn’t really compare.

          And honestly, he'd been around the block long enough to realize that this fantasy wasn't  _that_ unusual. It wasn't so much that it genuinely bothered him as it was plain old irrational anxiety, anxiety which seemed especially out of place considering that he had friends with  _much_ weirder tastes.

          He could tell Loki was allowing him to take his time responding, stroking his hair, fingernails scratching gently over his scalp. Tony sighed and turned his head to nuzzle at Loki’s hands.

          “Yeah, I know what you mean. And I was probably exaggerating a little about it making me cry, though if you push me hard enough, it might. And I _will_ tell you. Just… not literally right this second?”

          Loki hummed in his throat in response. “If I let you go _now,_ are you ever going to find it in yourself to come _back?”_

          And the God of Mischief, as always, had a point.

          “Rrrrrrrgh.” He groaned and kissed Loki’s fingers suppliantly. “Look—if it really means that much to you, I _will._ I promise.”

          “All right—fine. If you insist.”

          Loki didn’t look especially happy, but it didn’t escape Tony’s notice that he accepted the promise without any threats or further ado. He snuggled closer.

          “And, hey, you know, if you’re worried that I won’t,” he added with a shit-eating grin of his own because he totally was not above finding a way to get off on this, “You _could_ always just… come upon me at some point and _make_ me talk. With, uh… forceful persuasion. Anytime that _isn’t tonight,_ ” he added hastily as Loki’s eyes began to gleam, “Or tomorrow, actually, I have Avenging stuff tomorrow. But any time after that.”

          The god smirked. “Then I shall kidnap you on Wednesday.”

          “It’s a date. I’ll be sure to clear my calendar.”

          “See that you do,” said Loki...

          ...Who then _picked Tony up_ _and tossed him over his shoulder_ as Tony let out a surprised squawk, standing and walking towards the doors to the balcony _._ “I trust that you have no objections to being fucked now, so long as we stay well clear of your _troublesome little fantasy?”_

          “I, uh, don’t, but—WAH!” He squeaked as he felt the god give his ass a nice, hard squeeze. “Where the hell are you _going?”_

          “Outside.” And oh, he could _so_ definitely hear the self-satisfied grin in Loki’s voice. “To fuck you until you scream and beg for release, face-down over the railing so that all who care to see may know exactly whom you belong to.”

          “Oh my god.” He was suddenly very aware of sporting a very hard erection that was currently rubbing against Loki’s shoulder.

          “Yes.” He felt Loki’s shoulders shake with laughter. “I’m glad to see you learning appropriate forms of address, pet.”

          “You know, I _thought_ we were supposed to be talking about _you_ being the _pet_ tonight?”

          “I _suppose.”_ The god sounded wholly unrepentant as he fiddled with the doorknob. “We can talk about it later. Right now, I feel like fucking you.”

          “I’m getting the sneaking suspicion that you’re going to have me licking your boots and eating out of your hand by the time you _ever_ let me top you.”

          “Does that sound so bad? I think it sounds quite nice.”

          Tony rolled his eyes as he was set back down on his feet outside, a firm hand on his shoulder guiding him inexorably to his knees. “What _ever_. I think I got a good picture of how this was going to go when you found that you needed to put your _fist_ up my ass before saying anything. Oh, and—be nice with it right now, will you? It’s been through a lot tonight already.”

          “Of course, Stark, of course.” Loki was squeezing his shoulder reassuringly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grinned infectiously down at Tony. “I’ll take care of that for you. Don’t worry.”

          Tony looked up at him and smiled, reaching up to clasp Loki’s hand. “Sure. I trust you.”

          And he did. He saw Loki’s smile grow wider.

          “Now,” said the god, his other hand sliding into the hair at the back of Tony’s head, “Give me your mouth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr at happygutters (porn, fandom) or mari-the-mole (everything else). Also, I LOVE the thunderfrost/thorki pairing, but I just couldn't resist riffing on it a little when I had the idea of making Tony's other weird fantasy be Lannister roleplay.
> 
> Edit: RIGHT SO THE GAME OF THRONES EPISODE LAST NIGHT KINDA PUT THAT LANNISTER FANTASY IN A WHOOOOOLE DIFFERENT CONTEXT WHICH I DID NOT INTEND OOPS. DAMMIT.


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